by T. S. Joyce
He rounded on her and pushed her against the wall, unbuckled her belt like he’d done it a hundred times. He kissed her hard until her head swam.
“I can almost hear you thinking,” he whispered. “Your mind is racing while you’re taking this all in, getting overwhelmed because you aren’t used to it yet. You’ll get there fast, but for now?” He slid his hand down the front of her jeans under her panties and slid his fingertips down her sex. “I can make your head go quiet if you want.”
“Uh huh,” she whispered, nodding. “I want that.”
“Good girl.” He slid his fingers inside her and nipped the side of her throat. “Do you know how much I’ve thought about your tits today? How many times I remembered the way your moan sounded last night when I made you feel good? Sexy woman. I can’t keep my eyes off you.”
He kissed her neck, and she melted against him. His fingers slid in and out of her slowly. Too slowly. Cheyenne slid her hands under his T-shirt, ran her fingertips over the hard mounds of his abs to the perfect line between his pecs. He was so warm and strong under her touch.
“I don’t want you pulling away from me anymore,” he murmured against her ear, his lips brushing her sensitive earlobe. “I don’t want you worrying about the eyes on us or the stupid things people say. They’ll get used to us eventually.”
“You don’t care they’ll think…”
“Think what?” he asked, easing back.
“That I’m yours?”
“You are mine. Why would I care who sees that? I’m proud of you. Proud that you care about me back. You think those opinions out there matter to me? They don’t. Not even a little. When I say I don’t give a fuck about any of that? I mean I literally don’t care. I care about my mom, my step-dad, and I care about you.”
“And your career,” she whispered.
“And that. The better I do, the better I can take care of the people whose opinions matter.” He kissed her gently. “Like you. Someday soon, you’re going to figure out what you’ve done to me.” He slowed the pace down—fingers in…slower. He pulled them out, and pushed in again.
Her heart was beating so fast with his admissions. She’d never been with a man who was so open and honest. So confident in her and what they had together. It made her feel safe.
“Is there time?” she asked, writhing against his hand.
His dark eyes filled with question for a split second before understanding took over his smile. Without a word, he locked the door beside them and pulled her over to the countertop near the shower. The lighting above cast his chiseled jaw in shadows, and his eyes sparked with intensity as he shoved her jeans and panties down her hips. He didn’t even bother to take them off, just pushed them down. He gripped the back of her neck, bent her over, and gave her the devil’s grin in the mirror. “Watch.”
Okay. Okay, she would literally do anything he asked right now. She loved him being this dominant. Yes, man, do what you want!
The slap of his hand came out of nowhere, landed smack-dab on her right ass cheek, and for a second, it burned, but he rubbed it soothingly and took the sting right out as he murmured, “You’re gonna remember what I do to you when you see that handprint tonight.”
Oh, my God, this is so hot. She’d always heard about spanking but hadn’t ever thought it was her thing. Uuuuh, it was definitely her thing! She caught a glimpse of her hungry expression in the mirror. Why was she smiling like a psychopath? Be cool. Get boned. Admire your handprint later.
He rolled against her back, ran his fingertips down her spine, and she melted against his touch.
“Mmmmm, I love the way you respond to me.” The jingle of his buckle and the rip of his zipper sent chills of anticipation up her body. His arm flexed as he pushed down his pants, and then he leaned into her, rubbed the head of his cock between her wet folds.
She was already gone. Already rocking back against him, panting. He peeled off his shirt, then pulled hers over her head, but he didn’t bother to take off her bra. Nope. He just pulled her tits out of the top and gripped her hips, shook her to watch her breasts bob in the mirror.
When he slid into her from behind, her body rocked with the movement. Two Shots rolled his eyes closed, but then opened them again, watched her boobs bounce every time he thrust into her. And, oh Mylanta, it felt so good. Nothing in the outside world mattered right now. Not the rumors, the riders, the media, or her past. Just now, with him. With the man who owned her body and heart.
He liked watching her, she could tell, and that made the tingling pressure between her legs feel even better. His fingertips dug into her hips as he pulled her backward to meet his strokes. Faster now…faster. Harder and deeper, and she loved this. Loved watching him in the mirror as he took her from behind.
Oh, this man really did own her. This shifter. But that was okay because, from the look on his face…she owned him, too.
He rolled his head back, exposing his Adams apple as he pummeled into her, faster…faster now. He let off a rumble in his throat after he lowered his gaze back to her. Two Shots leaned forward, covering her back with his warm, strong chest, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, kept her so tight against him as he bucked into her.
She was there. She was there! “Two Shots! Ooooooh!”
His grin was wicked as he rammed into her harder…harder…so deep…oooooh. He tensed and froze, and she could feel his warmth spurting inside her. Her body responded with release, the pulsing sensation pounding through her. It felt so good she had to close her eyes to the world. Had to.
Arched back, she gasped his name over and over until her body was spent. He laid biting kisses along her shoulder blades, but she couldn’t even come up with anything coherent to say. Right now, she didn’t even remember her own name.
With a wicked grin at her reflection, he murmured, “This is my new pre-buck routine. Now I’m ready.”
And he looked ready. His eyes were dark, and his muscles looked bigger. Fuller. He looked taller as he straightened his spine and pulled out of her.
Warmth trickled down her thighs, and she loved it. Loved everything about being with him. In his arms, she didn’t have to think or work. He just made her feel good. Made her feel like a goddess. Filled her with confidence and made all the chaos in her head slow down until there was just glorious silence.
He spun her and cupped her neck, kissed her. It was a rough one with little bites to her bottom lip every time he disengaged. It was perfect.
She cupped his cheeks and searched his dark animal eyes. “Don’t split us up,” she said low, repeating him and Dead’s words. “I want to keep you.”
“You want me to lay his ass in the dirt early or play with him a little?”
“Get it done early.”
He nodded once and then lifted her hand to his lips where he laid a soft kiss to her knuckles. “Anything you want.”
The flask she’d given him earlier was on the bathroom counter, and she handed it to him along with the shot glass. “It’s almost time, Two Shots.”
He poured a shot and drank it down. Poured another and kissed her, let the burning whisky trickle from his lips into her throat. She drank that one down. Burn, burn, burn. That sexy man was going to teach her so much. He took his second shot and then shook his hair out. “Howeee, that shot’s hitting just right.”
She cast a quick glance at the clock on the wall. “Ten minutes until you need to be in chute number three. I can give you space to change.” Her body was still tingling with a drunken sort of pleasure, but they had crap to accomplish right now.
He left her there, cleaning up and re-dressing. She kept her eyes downcast so he wouldn’t think she was spying on his change. “I’ll go let the boys know to start Changing,” she said on a breath as she made her way to the door.
“Stay a minute more?” he asked.
And for the first time today, there was uncertainty in his eyes. “Would it bother you if you watched? I mean from close up?”
He wanted her
to see him. The shaken look on his face pulled at her heart, though. Slowly, she approached him and slid her arms around his waist, laid her head against his chest. His heart was pounding so hard. “Silly boy. Don’t you know I love you either way? Bull or man. You’re still you. I’ll wait here while you change because I know you won’t hurt me. And then I’ll cheer you on while you buck. And then I’ll wait for you to come back to me. You don’t hide from me, and I won’t pull away anymore. Deal?”
She could hear him swallow. “Deal.”
And then he changed right there in her arms. The power of his shift from man to bull pushed her backward so hard, she barely stayed upright. She staggered several steps away from him and gasped at how massive he was this close. Her heart was pounding out of her chest, and adrenaline dumped into her system. The muscular hump on his back was taller than she was by three feet, and his body was a solid frame of muscle. His horns each stretched two feet from his head. Even with the sharp tips ground down, they were thick and long, utterly lethal. Monstrous white bull with the black speckling. He just looked like a badass. Two Shots, that dangerous titan, stayed perfectly still for her as she stretched out her hand. When her fingers connected to his course coat, she let off a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, only muscle under thin skin and a gritty coat. Loads of muscle. Exhaling her shaking breath, she ran her hands down the side of him, committing his curves and shape to memory.
“You’re perfect,” she whispered.
He blew out a breath, and she eased away. “I’m gonna let the handlers know you’re ready to be loaded. Clenching her fists at her side, she ground out, “Buck him, Two Shots Down. I’ll be waiting here for you after.”
She threw open the door and called to the nearest handler. “You ready for Two Shots? Chute three.”
“One second,” he called, checking the alley behind him. “Dead is already loaded, and Quickdraw is ready, too. You want Quickdraw or Two Shots to load first?”
“Two Shots up first,” she called, throwing open the door and running for the fence on the other side of the alleyway. She climbed up and out of the way as Two Shots burst out of the Changing room, ears erect, body tense, charging at anything that moved around him. The handler jumped up on the fence with her and barely missed a horn in the ass.
Such pride swelled in her chest as she watched him trot toward the chutes.
“I heard Hatchet Wilder drew him. He’s sitting number two in the circuit right now. Do you think he’s ready?” the young handler asked, tracking Two Shots Down’s retreat.
Cheyenne smiled at his massive receding back. “Oh, I know he is.”
Chapter Seventeen
The thing about a chip on a shoulder was this…
They weren’t like a cut that would heal with time. They were a notch taken out of a man’s soul that didn’t grow back, no matter how hard a man fought to patch it.
A chip on a shoulder was born into existence from pain. From a hard lesson learned. From loss of trust, or maybe even from loss of self.
Two Shots’ chip had come from Denim Dodger years and years ago. He supposed he had his father to thank for the anger that always overtook him when he was in the chute, but tonight, when he looked through the slats and saw that familiar face…he didn’t feel thankful.
Denim looked older. Grizzled. His eyes were black, but then they always stayed the color of his bull’s. His hair was silver now, and he had crow’s feet. He probably still did just fine with the ladies. That’s what empty men did. They hurt the women they should take care of and lost themselves in girls that shouldn’t matter.
He was talking to a cowgirl, giving her the charming smile. Laughing with her.
When Hatchet climbed on his back, Two Shots went mad, bucking and kicking, hooves clanging against the metal of the chute.
“What the hell?” Hatchet yelled as one of the handlers dragged him off Two Shot’s back.
Two Shots would’ve found it funny if he wasn’t so pissed off. He wished he could charge out of here rider-less and jump the fence to trample Denim. He’d hurt his mom so bad.
He would never hurt Cheyenne like that. Would never make her question her place in his life like that piece of shit had done to his mom.
“Whoa, that’s one angry bull,” the announcer said over the intercom. “Hatchet Wilder has his work cut out for him today, but you know? I interviewed him before the rodeo, and he said he’s been waiting for this bull. Been hoping to draw him the last three events. He feels ready.”
“Yeah, I would have to agree he’s ready,” the other commentator chimed it. “This is a young man with a lot of drive, coming into the middle of the season with no injuries unlike some of these other boys…”
Their voices became mumbled and unimportant as he watched his dad soak up the attention in the VIP box with a couple of stock contractors. He didn’t give a shit about Two Shots. Just the attention he could get from Two Shots’ success.
“Hey!” Cheyenne’s voice pulled him from his focused rage. “Look at me!”
Two Shots looked up as Hatchet began the process of re-mounting his back.
Cheyenne was straddling the gate and jammed her finger at where his dad was sitting. “That out there? That doesn’t matter right now. That is designed to mess with your head. That is designed to unseat you. What matters is what you’re doing right now. Take it a second at a time. Do you understand what I’m saying? Don’t let this rider make it to eight because your dad decided to finally show up. You’re grown, and you did that without him. Any success you have will be without him. We will deal with that mess afterward.”
He looked back at Denim, but Cheyenne yelled, “Hey!”
He dragged his focus off his dad and jerked his head up, slammed a horn against the gate to look at her.
Her cute little nose was flaring, and her tits were pushing against her blue button-down shirt. She was looking right through his soul, right to the man. “It’s me and you after this. Right now, I need you to work.”
He slammed his side against the chute, pinning Hatchet’s leg, but that was normal behavior. The riders expected it, and Hatchet didn’t even yelp. Just gritted his words out to his team, “I need it tighter. I ain’t getting thrown on this one.”
The hell he wasn’t.
“Two Shots Down is making a scene in the chutes tonight with our young up-and-comer, Hatchet Wilder. I’ll get to our rider in a minute, but the time is ticking off the clock and they’re about to have to pull this gate or go unscored.” The announcer paused a second, then said, “Hold up. The judges are adding time to the clock. God dang, this is a rank bull. He usually doesn’t spend so much energy in the chute like this, but something sure has him riled up. I have a feeling I know what’s under his skin. I just got word that Two Shots Down has a father that you all may well know. Denim Dodger was a legend in his day. How did we not know he was the sire of Two Shots Down? The Dodger was one of the first bulls to buck in the first season of the PBSR. His bull is black as night while Two Shots Down is white as you can see…”
Hatchet was digging his sharp spurs into Two Shots Down’s sides again. They were tightening the rope, but it had his balls. That wasn’t how they usually did it. He bucked in the chute again, rammed the front with his horns. Quickdraw’s gnarly brown and white bull was in the chute in front of him, and he kicked back hard. The metal clanged hard enough to rattle his brain.
Yeah, get ’em, Quickdraw.
Of course, his dad would show up when he made top three bulls. He didn’t care about Two Shots. Didn’t care at all. When was the last time he even talked to him? He got a birthday card on his eleventh birthday with five dollars in it. Meanwhile, Mom was left to support him on her own.
He rammed the gate again. He was going to kill Dodger.
Hatchet and his yes-men were yelling, and above him, Cheyenne was yelling right back. It was chaos in the chute. Feisty girl. His girl.
Hatchet was tightening h
is rope around his gloved hand now. So tight. Open the gate, open the gate, open the gate!
He slammed his head to the side and kicked up his back legs just to mess with Hatchett. This rider was good at quick changes in pace, but Two Shots had a plan for him. Two Shots always had a plan.
It’s me and you. That’s what Cheyenne had said. It’s me and you.
Blowing breath, he gave one last look through the metal bars to his father. This wouldn’t be about him anymore. Not after tonight.
Now he would buck for Cheyenne.
“Ready?” the gateman called from his position on the other side of the gate, legs splayed in the arena dirt, fear in his eyes, hands on the rope that would open Two Shots’ gate and release the monster.
On his back, Two Shots could feel it—Hatchet’s nod.
“Buck him!” Cheyenne screamed.
The gate swung open and, inside, Two Shots smiled.
Anything you want…
Chapter Eighteen
Cheyenne cheered at the top of her lungs as Two Shots Down exploded out of the gate. Arena dust went flying as his front hooves slammed onto the ground and his hips went into the air with a twist. His back hooves slammed backward and then blasted into the earth. Another explosion of dirt, and Cheyenne stood on the chute fence, cupped her hands to her mouth, and yelled, “Do it, Two Shots!”
Hatchet had a good seat, a good grip, was on balance, and she could see the determination in his eyes, but Two Shots was twisting violently with his movement. He kicked off the ground and went air born, and holy shit! Bulls could fly.
Higher and higher he went, and time dragged. Camera flashes were blinding all over the arena, and at the peak of his buck, he kicked and twisted the opposite way, landed hard on his front end. Hatchet pitched forward and, before he could recover, Two Shots was already kicking off the ground again. Hatchet was jerked sideways.